


Thirty Messages

by Julibean19



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Mate Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Comatose Stiles Stilinski, Drunk Dialing, Drunk Stiles, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Derek, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Epistolary, Heartache, Hero Derek Hale, Hospitalization, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Literature, M/M, Mate or Die, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Near Death Experiences, Pining, Poetry, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Underage Drinking, Voicemail, Werewolf Mates, Wolf Derek Hale, i think, in spirit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julibean19/pseuds/Julibean19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look.  I think my friend is obsessed with you… or your cell phone at the very least.  And if your stupid fucking voice saying the same two words is all he’s ever gonna have of you, then you have to let him go.  You don’t let him get attached and you don’t drag it out.  If you hurt him, or lead him on, even just a little bit, I swear to God I will kill you.  So call him back, and end it.”</p><p>In which Derek leaves town with Cora, and Stiles thinks he might be going insane... because no one would leave this many rambling voicemails for someone they weren't even dating... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Messages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stripedsourwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stripedsourwolf).



> My first fill for Glompfest had a prompt from [stripedsourwolf](http://stripedsourwolf.tumblr.com)! They said: "I would LOVE a fic where stiles is sick and no one knows why, and he only feels better with derek (but like, make it super extra, hurt stiles is always a good time and then derek helps !! like stiles is in a ton of pain until derek is touching him. Love it)" etc... 
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Special thanks to [captainvonchan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/captainvonchan/pseuds/captainvonchan) and [femmmefatalist](http://femmmefatalist.tumblr.com) for their help and encouragement!
> 
> See end notes for an explanation of the dubcon warning.

Stiles was dying.

 

He knew it.  Scott knew it.  Melissa definitely knew it.  And worst of all, his father knew it.  

 

It was his mother all over again, and he would have done literally anything to save his father the pain of going through that for a second time.  But there was nothing to be done.  

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I can’t believe you use that stupid automated voicemail message, you big dork.  You’re just asking for me to make fun of your furry little ass.  I mean—I don’t know that it’s little, but I imagine it’s furry—not that I’ve been imagining it, because I haven’t.  Wow, that is so not the point.  

 

“It’s like you’ve never even said your own name before.  Why do you have this inquisitorial tone like you’ve forgotten what your name is?  I’ll tell you why.  Your name isn’t Derek Hale.  It’s Sour Wolf.  Obviously.  And you know what else?  I’m bored.  So bored.  There hasn’t been a single magical catastrophe in weeks.  Things are unnaturally un-supernatural around here and I’m going out of my freaking mind.  I actually read a book yesterday, Derek.  And not one of those freaky, gigantic magic books that I’m pretty sure are covered in human skin, but an honest-to-God novel, one of the ones I saw on the coffee table at the loft actually.  I hope you don’t mind that I took it.  I just—needed something—anything… I don’t even know what I was looking for.

 

“You picked a perfect time to go traipse around the tropical rainforest with your scary baby sister.  It’s all sunshine and rainbows around here.  Not a demon or evil witch in sight, and that’s when you decide to leave town?  Have I mentioned how terrifying Cora is?  What is it with you Hales and your overly expressive eyebrows and your perfect hair?  I bet you’re getting really tan too, all that sun right around the equator.  You probably look even more like an underwear model than usual.

 

“Do you think you’re ever coming back?  Because Scott and Isaac are getting a little too close for comfort, if you know what I’m saying, and I could really use some of your dark and stormy cynicism to even out the disgusting levels of puppy love that I’m being bombarded with at—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I was wrong.  I was so, so wrong.  I thought things couldn’t get any worse with the coy little smiles and the near-constant eye fucking, but no.  It could get worse.  It _did_ get worse.  Now Scott and Isaac are attached at the hip, and I’m pretty sure they’re going to start skipping any minute now, I swear to God.  Allison has started looking at them like she wants to be the jelly in that peanut butter sandwich and I just can’t handle it.  

 

“I love Scott, I really do, he’s my brother from another mother.  He’s been with me through everything, my mom, my dad and his good friend Jack Daniels, my pathetically long crush on Lydia, this whole werewolf clusterfuck.  He was the only person I ever told that I liked guys, too.  The only person, and now _he’s_ the one that’s got a boyfriend?  And a girlfriend!  He has two people.  Why does he get two people and I don’t even get one person?

 

“I’m not jealous.  I’m not.  It’s just—they’re so clearly in love with each other.  All three of them.  Now they all get to be in love with each other.  They’re cheery and romantic and it makes me want to vomit.  It’s gross and stupid and a whole lot of other childish words that an adult male person should not be using when he talks about his best friend, but I’m using them anyway.  I’m seventeen and some crazy bitch stabbed my father and stole him and I had to basically kill myself in a freaking bathtub to get him back and I think I’m entitled to a little bit of immaturity.  I deserve it.  I’ve earned it.  I—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“So I’ve been thinking.  Did you take creepy Uncle Peter with you to South America?  Because I haven’t seen him around here in a few weeks and I’m finding that pretty suspicious.  He’s not in a cave somewhere cooking up an evil plot that is going to wreak havoc upon us any day now, is he?  I’m hoping he went with you and you’ve had the good sense to let him get eaten by a panther or something by now.  Are there panthers in the jungle, or is that just another lie Disney’s told me?  I’m going to have to look that up.

 

“So get this.  I’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately since the three musketeers have started getting busy together and I’ve had to expand my horizons.  Did you know that there’s a public library in this town?  A place where you can exchange a little laminated card and your good name for a stack of bound paper with words printed on it?  And when you read those words they go into your mind and you learn things?  It’s magical.  You probably knew about libraries, because you’re an old man who’s still living in 1989.  Well anyway, I’ve been reading through the Beacon Hills Library’s vast collection of literary classics that you love so much, you big nerd.  

“I’ve been expanding my vocabulary, too.  Do you know what avuncular means?  What about antediluvian?  Or abrogate?  I’m still in the As of my pocket dictionary, obviously, but you know, it passes the time… helps me fall asleep…”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I’ve been…  having nightmares… about all that shit that went down with the Darach and my dad getting kidnapped.  It’s just that he’s all I have left, you know?  What am I saying?  Of course you know.  You just have Cora and creepy Uncle Peter.  I’m sorry.  I’m just so damn tired.  I think Allison and Scott are sleeping just fine, all snuggled up with Isaac.  I’m not even sure how that works.  Scotty’s got a small bed for three people.  Maybe they’re all on top of each other locked in like Tetris pieces.  Who knows.  I so didn’t need my mind to go there.  But here I am, all alone in my bedroom.  By myself.  Same as always.

 

“Dad’s at work again, night shifts all week.  I think he’s still trying to make up time, get things back together from when he went missing.  Not that he needs to.  He puts in more hours than the next three people combined.  I worry maybe one day he’ll work himself into an early grave—if something dark and scary doesn’t get him first.  Something with a few too many limbs or wings or something.  It’s kind of crazy, the way I worry about him.  Allison, Scott, and I, we still have one parent each.  Isaac doesn’t have anyone anymore, and he doesn’t seem too broken up about it.  Maybe it’s easier that way… having no one left.  Is it easier?  I don’t want to believe that, but it might be true.  At least… I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

 

“You never told me about the fire, or what happened to you in high school, or any of that crap.  I heard a little bit of it from creepy Uncle Peter during the whole Darach debacle, but I take everything that undead psycho says with a grain of salt, you know?  I wish you would have told me.  I don’t have any right to ask about your history, I get that, but I think we’ve been through enough terrible shit together by now to at least not need to hear about it from Peter.  I could have helped you.  You wouldn’t have had to go through everything alone.  I know we don’t talk about things, you and I, conceal, don’t feel and all that Frozen crap, but it doesn’t have to stay that way forever.  

 

“I thought we had a bond… a hold you up in a pool of water for hours, don’t let you get caught by the cops, save you from a gruesome, wolfsbane-filled death, kind of bond.  But I guess I was wrong.  Maybe I was never anything to you, but you were something to me.  You were _something_ Derek.  A friend, or an ally, or a… I don’t know what, but you were something.  And now you’re nothing… a could have been… an almost.  Why do I only have a pile full of almosts?  I wanted more.  I wanted—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“You motherfucker.  You bastard.  You… I’m so tired I can’t even think of any more insults.  That’s pathetic.  I’m pathetic.  I’m so mad at you, I’ve lost verbal function, and you know how hard I’ve been working on my vocabulary!  Let me give it another try…  You hornswoggler!  You vazey snoutband!  Yes, I have been reading a Victorian slang dictionary, thank you for asking.  I wanted to come up with some choice words to use against Scott for our Mario Kart date, but he blew me off—to get blown probably.  That trollop!  Strumpet!  Lupine Harlot!  

 

“Back to my point though, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!  YOU TOLD ME VAMPIRES WEREN’T A THING.  They are totally a thing, my friend!  A really gross thing with the claws and the red eyes, and the super sharp, pointy teeth.  You know how I know that?  I’ll tell you how!  I got jumped by a couple of them on my way home from the library last night.  See if I ever read again!  You would think a bunch of undead insomniacs would appreciate literature, but NO.  There I was, cutting through the alley behind the library to get a milkshake at Lido’s, when all of the sudden BAM!  Stiles is on the menu!  If Boyd and Erica hadn’t have been getting pizza down the block, I would have been vampire chow.  

 

“We’re pretty sure you can’t become a vampire from a scratch, but if I start burning in the sunlight when I go to school tomorrow morning, I’m coming for you, I swear to God.  I don’t care where you are, I don’t care what you’re doing.  If I’m gonna be a fucking night child, I’m coming after your stubbly, lying face.  I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth, buddy, I swear I will.  VAMPIRES!  AT THE LIBRARY!  WITH RAZOR CLAWS!!!  It sounds like a goddamn game of supernatural Clue, and I never asked to play, okay?  NEVER.  Libraries are like holy places.  Shouldn’t they be like sanctuaries?  You know, vampires can’t go into churches, so why should they be able to go into peaceful, beautiful libraries?  Now this is the part where I usually get cut off for talking too much, but I’m actually hanging up on you this time, and I just wanted you to know that.  Are you ready?  CLICK BITCH!  That was the phone hangin—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Guess who’s still awake?  This kid.  

 

“I don’t think I’ve slept at all since the Epic Vampire Battle of 2014.  And I don’t care what Scotty says, it _was_ an EPIC battle.  There was slashing and clawing and blood splattering and growling, on Boyd and Erica’s end.  I wasn’t the one growling.  Well maybe I did a little, but those fuckers ripped my backpack and my library books flew everywhere and I had to actually _purchase_ a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ because the library one may or may not have been covered in viscera when I tried to return it.  So here I am.  Awake.  Alone.  Again.  Just me and the books…  

 

“Maybe I should just treat this as an opportunity to hone my filibustering technique.  You never know when you’re going to need a good filibuster.  Talking is kind of my thing, and you know how villains like to monologue.  God, Peter loved to monologue, even in his post-villain days.   I swear that man must masturbate to the sound of his own smug voice.  Gives a whole other meaning to the term ‘self-satisfied,’ doesn’t it?  

 

“So I’m just gonna have to read aloud for you from this stupid novel that you probably love to death and have a battered copy of that you’ve been carrying around in your backpack all the way through the Andes or wherever the fuck you are right now.  Maybe it’ll be so boring, I’ll fall right to sleep.  I doubt it.  Even a bunch of twittering English ladies couldn’t knock me out at this point.  Plus, who knows how hot this Darcy character really is, I think we should find out.  

 

“‘Chapter one.  It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’  Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me, but whatever, let’s keep—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Forgive me Derek, for I have sinned.  It’s been 72 hours since I’ve last slept and this is my drunken confession.   Isn’t it funny how alcohol makes you brutally honest?  Not to yourself, obviously, but to other people?  I want to tell you everything.  I don’t know why… I just want to—

 

“I found a bottle of Jack hidden under the kitchen sink.  I guess my dad figured I’d never do the dishes, so I’d never find it.  I don’t know whether to be insulted or angry… I guess I’m both.  They’re really not that different, are they?  Like, that is a terrible fucking hiding spot, it’s like he wasn’t even trying.  Does he think the dishes do themselves?  Because they don’t.  Nothing does itself around here.  I do it.  I do everything.  I’m the adult while my Dad hides under a pile of paperwork and a bottle of Jack.  And I’m so insulted… and angry.  So angry.

 

“It’s more than half full, so I guess that’s something.  Well—it was more than half full when I found it.  It’s definitely not anymore, sucker!  Now it’s got like… an inch left at the bottom?  He didn’t drink the whole thing, so _I’m_ gonna drink the whole thing.  Better me than him,  you know?  And I could really use some sleep.  You think if I drink the rest of this, I’ll pass out?  I’d really like to pass out right about now.  What else makes you fall asleep?  Exercise?  Sex?  That’s the word on the street.  Well maybe not the street so much as the internet.  But either way, I wouldn’t know.  

 

“You’ve had sex before, right?  I mean with all the crazy girlfriends you’ve had, you must have done it with at least one of them.  I don’t want to ask what it was like… but I totally do want to ask what it was like, you know?  I sound like a girl, don’t I?  It’s not like I don’t know what happens.  I know it’s not a beautiful fairy tale.  If someone ever deigned to fuck me, I’d probably come too fast and flail around and break my partner’s nose and there would be crying and yelling and it would basically be an incredibly hot mess and oh my God no one is ever going to have sex with me!  Who would have sex with me?  I’m a spastic loser and I’m going to die a virgin.  I swear, virgin sacrifice has got to be one of the worst ways to go.  Just ask Heather… oh wait, you can’t, because your psycho witch girlfriend killed her… I’m sorry.  That was out of line.  That wasn’t your fault.

 

“Would you have sex with me?  Don’t answer that.  I mean… you can’t answer me anyway, this is your fucking voicemail and I’m just screaming into the abyss and you’ll probably never hear this, so I’m gonna ask again.  Would you have sex with me?  I don’t even think you like dudes, but theoretically speaking, if you did like dudes, would you fuck me?  Because I think you’re incredible, and that your ass was sculpted by the Gods, and that your chest hair is a gift to all of mankind.  I’d like to go to town on that ass, like you have no idea.  My tongue can do things.  So many things.  Things you wouldn’t believ—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“So that was bad.  I know that was really bad.  I was just so, so drunk.  More drunk than I’ve ever been in my life.  I think that was more drunk than anyone has ever been in the history of the world.  I’m pretty sure… at least.  I mean Caesar probably got a little crazy on occasion, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t call up his friends and offer to worship their asses.  Oh God, why am I still talking?  Why did I say it _again_?  This is awful.  I am terrible at this.  Why do I keep doing this to you?  And to myself?  This is just awful.  Awful, awful, awful.

 

“On top of the monster headache I’m nursing right now and the shiny yellow bile that I’ve been spewing for the past two hours, I’ve made a complete idiot of myself.  I’m so sorry.  Have I said that yet?  I meant to lead with that, I swear, but then I just imagine your stupid face with the ridiculous cheekbones and the perfect facial hair and all the words just fall right out of my head.  Oh God.  I’m doing it again.  Just to be clear… I’m not professing my love to you.  That is not what is happening right now.  What is happening right now is a stunning display of how tired and hungover I am.  This is the hangover to end all hangovers, and I think that’s punishment enough.  

 

“You’ve never been drunk, have you?  Like you were born a werewolf and so were Peter and Cora, and a lot of the rest of your family, right?  So none of you have ever been drunk.  That’s gotta be weird.  What were your family parties like?  What was college like?  Did you even go to college?  Well I guess that’s not really a fair question.  You had a lot going on.  I’m just curious… because of all the books.  It seems like you really love the books, and there were so many of them.  I’m sorry I went through your room after you left the loft and there were so many books.  The rest of the place was completely spartan, but the bedroom?  So many books.  I’m sorry, but I boxed them up and brought them home and then I read them.  All of them.  Well… most of them.  I hope that’s okay.  You can have them back… if you ever come back.  I promise.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“You know what, Derek?  I’m not sorry.  Sorry not sorry, bitch!  Umm… I didn’t mean to call you a bitch, I’m sorry about that— but not for the other thing!  I’m un-apologizing for my drunk dialing because I’m a stupid teenager and we’re _supposed_ to get drunk and call the people we have crushes on and make idiots out of ourselves.  It’s like a goddamn rite of passage.  It’s like some deep 80s movie kind of shit.  Seriously.  The only thing wrong with this picture is that you’re not in town anymore to make it so awkward that we have to start avoiding each other on the street and then keep running into each other in exceedingly ridiculous ways until the music crescendos and we share an epic kiss and ride off into the sunset on a lawnmower.  So where the fuck are you, Derek?  

 

“You left.  You _left_ me.  And yeah, maybe you didn’t know that there was anything there for me to lose, but you walked out.  You did that.  You left me all alone and you don’t get to judge me for how I deal with that.  You don’t get to do that.  Oh hey Scotty… I thought you weren’t coming over until six?  No one.  I’m not talking to anybody—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Stiles, but it stops now.  Whatever it is you’ve done to him—it ends now.  I don’t know if you’ve been answering his calls or if he’s just yelling at your voicemail, but either way, you have to call him back and you have to put an end to it.  How many times has he called you?  I hadn’t seen him in weeks and then I show up to play some video games and he’s yelling into the phone like you guys are dating and having some huge fight.  I think I would know if my best friend was dating some asshole werewolf who’s probably not even gay, and is definitely too old for him.  

 

“Look.  I think my friend is obsessed with you… or your cell phone at the very least.  And if your stupid fucking voice saying the same two words is all he’s ever gonna have of you, then you have to let him go.  You don’t let him get attached and you don’t drag it out.  If you hurt him, or lead him on, even just a little bit, I swear to God I will kill you.  So call him back, and end it.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“What am I doing with my life?  I swear to God, this is probably clinically insane.  They should put me in a clinic.  This is the kind of thing that crazy people do… pathologically leaving voicemails for people that don’t want anything to do with them.  It’s desperate and it’s crazy and you are so damn lucky.  You get a front row seat to my psychotic break.  Not only that, but you get to keep a record of it for posterity.  I don’t know why I’m doing it, keeping this weird-ass diary in your inbox.  It just feels like something I have to do.  Does that make any sense?  It feels like I’ll die if I don’t talk to you every day… right here… in my chest.  I know you don’t know what I’m touching right now, but I’m touching my chest.  

 

“But anyway, my point is… I didn’t used to feel like this.  Six months ago I was still not-so-happily pining over Lydia Martin, and things were perfectly fine.  I didn’t have dreams about sweaty washboard abs and mystical-magical-multi-colored eyes and I didn’t feel the compulsion to call your cell phone just to hear you say your stupid name over and over again. What kind of name is Derek anyway?  Well I know what kind of name it is, it comes from the German, Theodoric and it means ‘people-ruler,’ and yes, I have been watching the Swan Princess repeatedly.  You can also check out movies from the library, but that is so not the point.  The point is, why am I doing this?  

 

“Do I need some sort of closure?  There was never even anything here that you would need to close, was there?  We didn’t open anything.  We saved each other’s lives a few times, me more so than you, if we’re keeping score here, I think you probably owe me one or two, but we weren’t friends.  We never went to the movies or watched a baseball game together.  We never went to dinner.  We didn’t date.  So why does it feel like this?  Why does it feel like you took my heart with you when you left.  I need you to come back with it now, Derek.  You might not even know that you have it, but I need it back.  So I need you to come home now, okay?”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“There are very few things in this world that I am good at, but I like to think that masturbation is one of them.  I’m a pro, like Olympic medal winning, 10 out of 10, nice dismount by Stilinski, kind of professional masturbator.  I can get off in a minute flat, or I can drag it out for over an hour.  I can do it slow, or do it fast, through my clothes, or in the shower.  I could think about anything, literally anything, and get a boner.  I can ride one of my toys and come like three times in one sitting with no hands.  My record is like 36 times in one day.  So what does it say to you when I haven’t orgasmed in… say a week?  That’s seven long days of no Stiles on Stiles love, and that’s pretty damn worrisome to me.  

 

“Maybe I’m losing my edge.  It’s not as fun as it used to be.  Nothing feels good enough, so why bother?  Lydia’s not doing it for me anymore, so I went through my whole porn folder, and… nothing, not a blip.  Then I sought out some of that really weird shit, trying to spark some deep, dark, perverted yet untapped interest.  But no, nothing.  I’m broken.  I’m broken, and I blame you.  Yes, I realize that you didn’t actively break my penis, but I think you may have metaphorically broken it.  I don’t think it wants anyone but you anymore.  And not just you in my mind, like actually you.  Thinking about you gets me close, but to finally get there, I think I _at least_ need your voice.  

 

“I know how creepy that sounds.  I know I’m basically sexually harassing you at this point.  I know that, and I’m sorry, but I’m also desperate.  I kind of need you to help a brother out, because this is something that I _really_ don’t want to talk to Scotty about.  If he were single, maybe like two years ago, I think he would have lent me a hand, no questions asked.  But now he’s with Allison and Isaac, and I just can’t ask him for that.  It’d be totally platonic, I think I’ve already made it painfully clear that I don’t want anyone but you, but still, I’m not going to ask.  I’m just going to become celibate.  Yeah I think that’s the best idea… celibate.  It can’t be that hard right?  Mind over matter and all that.  I’m gonna try it, because let me tell you, jerking it for hours and then never actually coming?  That’s the worst feeling in the world, and I think maybe not trying anymore has got to be better than—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Well that didn’t work at all.  Clergy people that actually maintain celibacy must be from another planet, because I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.  At all.  And that led me to some horrifying Google searches about priapism, and I am not down with any of that.  So I’m looking into alternative options—because I’m desperate.  

 

“I noticed that you had a few books that were entirely in Spanish.  I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, but now I’ve got to go with the assumption that you are a multifaceted individual and there’s a lot more than meets the eye.  You know, like Transformers, but with surly werewolves with poor social skills.  Well, I couldn’t read any of them, so I made a list of the authors and tracked down some English translations at the library and some of them are poetry!  Poetry, Derek!  You’re such a softie wolf, I swear.  Then I started reading some of them, and let me tell you, this Neruda guy?  He’s kind of… dirtier than I was expecting.  I didn’t expect to get turned on by poetry, but this stuff… I mean it’s not half bad.  

 

“‘I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees.’  Why is that so hot?  I don’t get it.  This shouldn’t be arousing, and yet… the flag is flying.  I kind of hate you for introducing this shit to me.  I can feel myself getting gayer by the minute.  

 

“I like this one too, ‘When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight?  Why did they stop at my lips, so suddenly.  Why do I know them, as if once before, I have touched them, as if, before being, they traveled my forehead, my waist?’ Why does it feel like you’re touching me when I read these words, Derek?  It’s like I can almost feel you in my chest, like you’re right here with me.  I don’t get it, but I think this one is my favorite,

 

“‘Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.  
I love you still among these cold things.  
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels  
that cross the sea towards no arrival.  
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.  
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.  
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.  
I love what I do not have. You are so far.  
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.  
But night comes and starts to sing to me.  
The moon turns its clockwork dream.’

 

“I just want to—Why do I feel so—I’m sure it’s even better in the original Spanish.  Maybe someday you can—”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“What the fuck am I even doing talking to you?  This isn’t me.  This is some crazy, alternate reality Stiles who is sensitive and romantic and wants to read poetry to absent werewolves that couldn’t possibly feel the same way about him.  What the fuck am I doing with my life, Derek?  You don’t care about me.  I know you don’t.  You didn’t give even the slightest little hint of affection.  Not even a soupçon of touching reciprocation when you were here, let alone now when you’re a thousand miles away.  So why did I expect you to answer me?  You’re probably trying to save me the embarrassment of having to spell it out for me, so I’ll do it for you… ‘Dear Stiles.  I don’t know why you think I’m gay or want anything to do with your pasty white ass, but I don’t.  You’re delusional and probably need to be medicated.  I hope you get the help you need.  Please never contact me again.  Love Derek.’  No, not ‘love’ Derek.  You don’t love me and you never will.  You’d wouldn’t say that.  

 

“Now I’m having fake conversations with myself.  This is getting dire.  I think I’m going to need a 12-step program and a sponsor to keep myself from doing this.  You don’t love me.  You don’t love me, and that’s okay.  I don’t know why it doesn’t _feel_ okay, but it’s going to have to be.  I know it’s the truth.  I don’t know why it feels like my heart is going to fall out of my chest whenever I think about never talking to you again, but it does.  Why does it feel like someone has carved a hole in my body when I think about not dialing your number again?  We’re not even talking to each other.  This is all I have.  Just me and your voicemail.  I’ll never have you, and I have to accept that fact.  

 

“I think I hate you—for making me feel like this.  What’s so great about you?  You’re just a guy… just a stupid guy that doesn’t even know I exist.  You could be dead for all I know.  There’s nothing stopping me from going out to Jungle right now and rubbing my ass on every guy there until one of them wants to take me home.  There’s _nothing_ stopping me.  Except you.  I hate you.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Derek.  I know you never asked for this.  You don’t deserve this.  You didn’t do anything to me.  I know that.  Really, I do, it just—It just hurts.  And that’s not your problem.  It’s not.  But everything hurts and I don’t know why, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.  Scott’s busy with the Doublemint Twins and even if he wasn’t, he already thinks I’m crazy, and if you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly have a lot of friends.  Not ones I tell things to anyway.  I love Lydia, but I don’t want her to know about any of this—teen angst, unrequited bullshit.  I don’t want her to know that my chest aches every time I think about about you.  I don’t want her to know that I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I don’t hear your surprisingly high-pitched voice say your name every day.  I don’t even want you to know that stuff.  It’s embarrassing and amazing and terrifying.  

 

“It’s amazing because I never knew anything could feel this way, like you’re so obsessed with someone you feel like you’re going to die.  And it’s terrifying because it doesn’t matter.  None of this matters.  You’re gone and I’m here and you might never be coming back, so none of it matters.  There’s nothing more I can do.  I can’t go run all over South America looking for you so you can turn me down in person.

 

“Well I guess there’s one more thing.  I could tell you I love you.  I don’t think I did that yet… or at least not sober, and it doesn’t count if you’re drunk, everyone knows that.  Well, maybe perpetually sober werewolves don’t know that, but most of the world does, I swear.  Here goes nothing…

 

“I love you.  I love you without knowing how or when or from where.  Jesus this is getting embarrassing again.  Can we pretend that I didn’t quote poetry to you?  Please, just do that one thing for me?  Put me out of my misery.  Because seriously, Derek? I am miserable.  My chest hurts like there’s a weight pressing down on it and sometimes… if I think about you too long… it’s like a buzzing in my head and my lips start to tingle.  I know that sounds sweet and romantic, but it’s not.  It’s terrifying.

 

“I’m not calling again… I can’t do this anymore.  I’m sorry.  I know you never asked for this and I’m sure you’re never coming back.  It doesn’t matter.  None of this matters.  Forget it.  Forget me.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Derek, where the fuck are you?  Stiles has been in the hospital for a week and now they’re fitting him for a pacemaker.  A _pacemaker_ , Derek!  Since when does Stiles have a heart condition?  It’s been months since the nemeton and he’s still sick.  I feel fine, but so does Allison, and she’s human too, so what is wrong with him?  What did you do?  What kind of magic crap is this?  He is 17 years old, he does not need a pacemaker.  I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I’m betting it’s not heart disease!  Deaton left town with his sister after the whole Alpha pack thing and I don’t have any other supernatural acquaintances, so I need you to answer your damn phone.  I need your help.  You know I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, so please—call me back.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Look, Derek, I don’t know what Scotty has been telling you, but don’t listen to him, okay?  I’m fine.  I’m going to be fine… and this is not your problem.  You’re not my boyfriend and you’re not my Alpha.  You’re not my anything, so just go on living your life doing… whatever it is that you’re doing.  I don’t need you.  I’ve got Melissa and modern medicine on my side, and you know she’s a scary mama bear.  She can handle this.  It’s a totally normal, human problem.  I’m gonna get my chest pain taken care of, and I’ll be fine.  It’s kind of nice to know it wasn’t actual heartbreak that was making my heart hurt, because that sounded ridiculous even as I was saying it.

 

“Just—don’t let Scott guilt trip you into coming home.  You’re better off where you are.  It’s good for you, to get some space… get out of this place.  I’m happy for you.  Really, I am.  I hope you’re having a good time and you’re feeling… free.  Don’t get roped back into this.  Promise me you won’t.  Take care of yourself.  Goodbye.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“He’s getting worse, Derek.  It’s… bad.  What even is pacemaker syndrome?  How does a pacemaker just not work?  They can put them in in like 10 minutes while you’re still awake.  They’ve been doing that kind of surgery for like 50 years or something.  So why isn’t it working?  He’s going to die.  He’s going to die and it’s going to be your fault.  I don’t know how, but it’s got to be something to do with you.  He was fine until he started leaving you crazy voicemails all the time.  I don’t know what you did, or what you said to make him fall in love with you, but I’m pretty sure it’s actually killing him.  I need you to call him and let him go.  I don’t even care what you say or how you say it, but you just need to fix it.  He needs your help… he needs hope.  We all do.    

 

“You haven’t been here, you can’t see him, but trust me on this… it is really bad.  He’s pale and frail and he’s lost weight.  He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last three weeks and I don’t know a lot about medicine, but I know that’s not good.  They don’t seem to be able to keep his heart beating at the right speed.  It keeps slowing down until he’s almost dead and I’m not sure how many times they’re going to be able to restart it again.  I don’t know how long he’s going to last like this, and he is my brother, and I just—I can’t watch him die.  So if you can help.  Please help.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Hey, Derek.  How are you doing?  No—you know what?  I don’t care how you’re doing.  You know why I don’t care?  I’ll tell you.  It’s really very simple.  Maybe your absurdly gelled hair has formed a protective shell and is stopping the words from getting into your brain, but do your best to hear me anyway.  You owe me.  I’m sure you don’t think you owe me anything, but you do.  You let us go.  Me and Boyd—we were scared and we wanted to leave and we didn’t listen to you, but then you didn’t follow us.  You didn’t follow us.  We’re like your goddamn children, Derek!  We were scared orphans in the woods and got picked up by hunters, and you didn’t come for us!  And then you just left without saying goodbye.  

 

“I get that you needed to get out of town, and that you’re not an Alpha anymore, and you need time to deal with that and be with your sister.  But we could have come with you.  You didn’t even ask if we would be okay, you just up and left us here without an Alpha.  And no, Scott doesn’t count.  His eyes are still yellow and even if they weren’t, he’s a baby.  He doesn’t know anything about being a werewolf, and news flash buddy, neither do we!  You’re a deadbeat dad, so that’s why I’m allowed to guilt trip you into coming home.  

 

“Stiles is a nerd.  He’s goofy and he talks too much and I have no idea what he’s talking about half the time, but I think you do.  You get him.  I think there’s something there.  I’ve seen the way you look at him.  It’s the way I used to look at him before I became a werewolf and found Boyd.  I think you’re too scared to do anything about it, but that makes you a fucking coward.  Man up and get your happy ending you sad sack, or I will come find you and claw your eyes out with my perfect nails.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Hey Derek.  It’s me, Boyd.  I don’t want to fight, and I’m not mad.  Well I’m not _that_ mad.  You know what you did and I know what we did and I think we’re probably even, but dude, if you don’t get your shit together, I’m pretty sure Erica’s gonna take it out on me.  I get enough scratch marks during sex and I’d like to avoid castration.  So please, do me a favor and do what she says.  Seriously.  It’s for the greater good.  Also… I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.  I hope you’re okay, wherever you are.  We miss you.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“So you know I don’t care about Stiles.  He’s obnoxious and a huge pain in my ass.  If he died tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t shed a tear… but Scott would.  Scott loves him and I love Scott, so I need him to not die.  If Stiles doesn’t live, I don’t think Scott will survive, and Allison and I need him, so please.  Help me fix this.  I know it’s selfish to ask.  You already gave us this amazing gift, but I think you and I both know that it’s kind of a blessing and a curse.  Sometimes this life is a cursed one, and I get that I chose it, but I also know that you didn’t… and neither did Stiles.  I may not like the guy, but I know he doesn’t deserve this.  He’s like ten minutes away from the cancer genies coming to town and asking him to make a wish to go to Disneyland.  I don’t know if there’s anything you can actually do to help him, but I think if you didn’t try, you would never forgive yourself.  I hope we see you soon.  Things aren’t the same around here without you… and we could really use an adult around here to keep Erica in line.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Hey Derek, it’s me, Allison.  I don’t think I ever got the chance to apologize to you properly.  I know you hate me, and that’s completely fair.  After what my family did to yours, and then what happened with my mom and Scott, I don’t deserve forgiveness.  Grief makes you do crazy things.  I never thought I’d feel kindred with Peter, but I think I understand him better now, and you too.  I know I was unfair to you and the rest of the pack, and I’m sorry about that… I’m sorry about all of it.  I hope you aren’t staying away from your home because of me or my family.  My father and I have turned over a new leaf.  We’re working with the pack to protect Beacon Hills, and we’re tracking down the hunters who aren’t following the code.  I want to make my father proud.  And believe it or not, I want to make you proud.

 

“So if you’re afraid of coming home, I hope you can understand that things are different now.  They can be different for you, too.  You may not think that there’s anything here left for you to do, but there is.  The Betas are still just dumb teenagers.  We all are.  You may not think that they need you because you’re not an Alpha anymore, but that’s not true.  You don’t need Alpha power to be able to teach them the things they need to know.  The things your mother taught you.  Just think about it, okay?”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“Hey fuckface, who the fuck do you think you are?  You told me the bite was a gift, and then I turned into a giant lizard!  That transformation was not exactly as advertised!  Then I turn into an actual wolf, spend a year in London, and when I finally get back I hear that you’ve skipped town?  You left me here with a bunch of retards that don’t know the full moon from their own asses!  You better get your furry face back here right now and fix the mess you’ve made or I’m going to figure out how to grow my tail back and come bitch slap you with it.  Oh, and Stilinski is like dying or whatever, so sack up, dude.  Everyone here knows you’ve been dying to hit that speckled, white ass since you first laid eyes on it.  Later.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I don’t even think I need to lecture you, everyone else has said everything there is to say.  You know what you need to do.  I know you’re in love with Stiles, and not the stupid, idealistic love that he had for me, the real kind.  I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one is watching.  I know you don’t think you deserve him, or any happiness at all, but I want you to stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about him.  You may think you’re saving him by staying away, but you’re actually hurting him more than you’re helping him.  I think you owe it to him to give yourselves a chance at happiness.  Do the right thing, Derek, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.  Which will not be very long because there’s a half a dozen angry werewolves lining up to kick your ass from here to Sunday.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I know the rest of the pack has been leaving you messages, and if they couldn’t convince you to come home, I doubt I’ll be able to.  I bet you haven’t even listened to any of these messages.  You could have left your phone somewhere, or turned it off.  You could be dead for all I know, but I have a feeling that you’re not.  I don’t know how or why, but Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson think they have been sensing you lately.  They have hope because they think the pack bond has been reignited.  I don’t know enough about pack dynamics to have any idea what’s happening, but if they can feel you, maybe it means you’re coming back, maybe not, but I think it at least means that you’re still alive.  

 

“I thought I was going to become an Alpha, but I didn’t.  I haven’t seen my eyes flash red in months, so maybe it was a fluke.  Maybe I can just pass through mountain ash, but not do anything else.  Either way, we have no Alpha.  Stiles is dying, and I can’t even bite him to save his life.  We need a miracle.  So if you aren’t coming back, please call and tell me, because I need you to at least help me find an Alpha wolf that I can get to the hospital in time to save my best friend.  Please do this for me—for us.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I know you kids don’t put much stock in parental figures.  Most of your parents are dead or missing and you have this whole supernatural hierarchy that’s taken the place of listening to your elders, but I’m pulling the mom card.  Stiles doesn’t have a mother anymore, and neither do you, so hold on to your pants because I’m going to mother you so hard your head is going to spin.  

 

“You are young, dumb, and irresponsible.  You bit a bunch of reckless teenagers and gave them super powers, and then you left them alone to figure out how to fend for themselves.  You complete moron.  You don’t knock up a girl and leave town, and you don’t bite a few orphans and then run out on them.  There are no rules when it comes to abandoned werewolves.  I can’t track you down and demand child support here, just like I couldn’t make Raphael sober up and be a father to Scott.  You don’t get a pass because your family died.  I bet you think you should, because you had to grow up too soon and fend for yourself, but that’s not how this works.  You don’t hurt others just because you’ve been hurt.  You should have known better.

 

“I’ve been sleeping in this hospital for the past three weeks.  Stiles has coded eight times in the past two days.  There’s nothing I can do for him except electrocute him whenever his heart stops and try to beat him back to life, and let me tell you, it’s not fun for anyone, and it’s especially painful for him.  The kids seem to think that you have something to do with this, that you can fix it somehow, and I hope to God that that’s true because I don’t know how much more his body can take.

 

“So you listen here and you listen good, because I am only going to say this once.  There’s a beautiful boy lying in my hospital, and he may not be my flesh and blood, but he might as well be.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him or John.  I think you know how that feels, because I saw how you and Peter sat by Cora’s bedside and I heard about what you did for her.  I am a nurse, and there is _nothing_ I can do for him.  Every time his heart stops, we all die a little bit.  I have done everything that I know how to do, and it hasn’t been enough.  Stiles is all John has left, and if he dies, it will ruin him.  You are our last hope, and I need you to help save my family.  I’ve saved your werewolf ass enough times for you to owe me, so get your shit together, Hale.  You’ve got a family reputation to live up to.  Do me and your mother proud, Derek.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“I’m sorry my mom laid the guilt trip on you, but we’re getting desperate.  I’m about to bring out the big guns, so prepare yourself.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“You… Derek… don’t listen to any of them.  I’m going to be fine.  I’m feeling… better.  I’m going to get out of here soon, and I’ll be able to go home and back to school.  There’s nothing you can do here.  These things just happen.  It’s not your fault that I got… sick, and I don’t know why everyone is trying to guilt you into coming back here.  I just—my heart doesn’t work anymore, but the doctors will fix me, and I’ll be okay.

 

“I promised myself I wasn’t going to call you again after… the last time.  But when I heard that the rest of the pack was stalking you, I felt like I needed to set the record straight.  You didn’t do anything wrong here… at least not to me.  There’s no way you could have known that this would happen, and I’m not your responsibility.  The only person I want you to concentrate on is yourself.  Be happy, Derek… please.  That’s all I want from you.  Be happy and… take care of yourself.  I love you.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

 _Beeeeep_  

 

“Hey kid.  It’s pretty obvious by now that my son has got a thing for you.  He’s holding a torch or whatever, waiting for you to love him back and telling you to stay away from him with the same breath.  We all know Stiles does everything full tilt.  You probably saw what he was like with Lydia, and if I’m being honest, he wasn’t half as interested in her as he is in you.  I never really saw the two of you together, so I don’t know if you care about him like that, and as his father, I should probably warn you off—tell you to stay away from him if you’re not going to stick around, but I can’t do that this time.  

 

“I’m a good cop, and I know when to ask for help.  This is me asking for… I don’t know what.  A miracle?  I already watched my wife die.  It was slow and painful and cruel, and so is this.  Stiles can be difficult at times, but he’s a good kid and I think he’s going to be a good man, if I can make sure that he lives that long.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be up to me.  One day, when you have kids, you might understand this feeling… how you can be completely helpless to fix your child’s problems and doomed to sit idly by while the world kicks their ass.  Stiles is strong, and he’s capable, more so than I was at his age, but he’s not invincible.  I know when to ask for help, and I’m asking now.  If there’s anything you know… if there’s anything you can do, no matter how inconsequential you think it is, you call me immediately.  I will not be made to bury my son until I’ve exhausted all avenues possible, so please, call me back.  I’m counting on you, son… save our boy.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

 _“You have reached the voicemail of_ **_Derek Hale_** _, please leave a message after the tone.”_

 

_Beeeeep_

 

“My mom said they’re taking him to Cleveland Clinic.  The doctors said they’ve done all they can do for him in Beacon Hills and they’re going to try some experimental drug therapy.  He’s on the transplant list, but that’s not a guarantee, and it could take months for a match to be found.  He doesn’t have months, Derek.  He might not even have a week.  His heart stops every day, and I can’t watch it happen anymore.  I can’t.  They’re going to take him… tomorrow… and I can’t go with him.  It’s just him and the Sheriff, and I can’t afford to fly there after him, so this is my last shot.  

 

“Derek I—I have this sick, awful feeling that once he leaves here, he won’t be coming back.  You have to come.  Please.  If there was anything I thought I could offer you in a trade for his life, I would give it to you, but I don’t have anything… nothing that’s worth anything to you anyway… except him.  I think you are going to need him for whatever comes next, and I have to believe that there’s something good coming for you soon… for both of you.  So please, if you ever cared about any of us, you’ll come home.  Please, Derek.  I don’t know how else to say it.  I’m begging you, from the bottom of my heart, get here by tomorrow, or Stiles will die… and the rest of us?  We’ll die right along with him.”

 

_Beeeeep_

 

* * *

 

Derek flipped his phone closed against his thigh so hard he heard the plastic casing snap.  Thirty messages.  Thirty.  That’s all his inbox would hold.  Who knows how many Stiles had left before then that had gotten deleted.  If he had bothered to buy a new phone like Stiles had suggested, he might have been able to get to his messages sooner.  Derek spared a few precious seconds to mourn all the little quips and heavy breaths that he would never get to hear before turning to his sister with red, glowing eyes.  

 

“We’re going home,” he growled, looking from the top of her auburn head to the statue of the Immaculate Conception they had been admiring before stalking off into the treeline.  

 

“What home?” she called after his retreating back, following with short, quick strides.  

 

“Our real home,” Derek said, thoughts immediately going to Stiles and the warm, whiskey-strong feeling he felt in his throat whenever the man crossed his mind.  “The only one we’ve ever really had,” he emphasised, hoping Cora felt the same way.  “Beacon Hills.”

 

After spending weeks running through the mountains while they stayed with Cora’s Mapuche pack, the shift came as easy as breathing.  With a deep, steadying breath, Derek shook out his arms and cracked his neck, shaking the rough movement all the way down his spine.  Then, on a long exhale, he shed his skin.  Sharp pain shot down his tailbone as he fell to his knees, shoulders cracking and reforming into different joints as he let his wolf surge to the surface.  Red eyes flared as he shook out his dark brown coat and showed his still-human sister his long, canine teeth, sun catching the metallic tones in his coarse fur.  He gave a low, sub-vocal order and then leapt into movement, charging down the slope of the Cerro San Cristóbal without a look backward to see if Cora was following.

 

“You are so lucky I’ve got a change of clothes in this backpack,” she grumbled, hurrying after her brother, sneakers slipping on the damp grass of the hill that had taken them a half hour to climb up, keeping step with the other tourists.  “And that I’ve still got your passport.”  She shook her head, a little more exasperated than fond, and quickened her pace.  “What were you going to do when we got to customs?  Flash your wolf fangs at the guards and hope they fainted?”  Derek huffed heavily out his damp nostrils and ran on, keeping on the edge of the forest until they cleared the park.  

 

“You know that we just passed a zoo, right?  You really are asking for trouble today,”  Cora teased, a little out of breath as she ran full-tilt after her Alpha.  She tried to call after him several times, and only got growls and snarls in return.  It didn’t seem to matter to Derek that a cab would have gotten them to the airport faster, something in him just needed to let the wolf free.  Something deep inside his soul told him that a journey to save his mate wouldn’t mean as much if he ran on two legs and not four.  

 

Thirty minutes later, Derek was padding around the smoking area of the Santiago airport when Cora caught up to him.  “Really, Derek?  The animal comfort station?  Have you no shame?” she asked, pointing to the signpost that depicted a dog relieving itself on a fire hydrant.  She laughed as she threw her brother his spare clothes and waited for him to shift back behind a convenient copse of bushes.  

 

“You’re not funny,” Derek growled, pushing the sleeves of his maroon henley up to his elbows.  He grabbed his wallet, phone, and passport from Cora’s outstretched hands and strode off toward the departures entrance.  Not even flinching when he saw the price, Derek booked two seats to Sacramento and marched to the instructed gate like a man going off to war.  It was unfortunate that he couldn’t walk all the way to California, because their flight didn’t leave for another fifty minutes, and he thought the wait might kill him.  

 

Stiles’ words repeated over and over in his mind, first it was “I could have helped you.  You wouldn’t have had to go through everything alone,” but after a few minutes of that, his mind flew to “my tongue can do things.  So many things,” and got stuck there, repeating until he pushed it away, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of his baby sister.  Next he landed on, “why does it feel like you took my heart with you when you left,” and then, after a few more cycles of that, finally settled on, “I love you.  I love you without knowing how or when or from where.”

 

Derek could barely believe it, but once he heard it the first time, he knew it to be true.  Stiles loved him and if he didn’t get back home quickly, his mate might die never knowing that Derek loved him back.  He had been sitting at his gate for twenty minutes, tapping his toes in a nervous rhythm on the cheaply carpeted floor before he wised up.  Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Derek flipped it open and attempted to call Scott, but it was dead.  The casing had been crushed and it would no longer power on.  “Cora!  Can I use your phone?”

 

“What happened to yours?” she asked from much closer than Derek expected her to be.  It was so unlike him to be caught off guard by his surroundings, but his mind had been wandering.  

 

“It’s broken, and I want to call Scott and tell him we’re coming so they don’t move Stiles before we get there,” Derek said very quickly, words tumbling out of his mouth in an uncharacteristic ramble.  

 

“Well you should have thought about that before you went all Rambo on your ancient Motorola, because I lost mine a week ago in the mountains, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have had any of the numbers you want.”

 

“Damnit, Cora!  You lost it?  Can’t you be more responsible?” Derek groaned, immediately thinking of going to the front desk to ask to use the courtesy phone to call information.  

 

“Can’t you handle your teenage romance without my help?” she shot back, flipping her hair over one sun-tanned shoulder.   

 

“It’s not just a teenage romance, you know that,” Derek said, “I should have realized when we were with your pack, but I just didn’t put it together.”

 

“Well we’re about to board, so you’ll have a few hours to stew in your own stupidity,” she said, pulling him out of his seat and giving him a good squeeze.  “I’m going to take a nap,” she told him, smirking as they lined up at the gate, “a ten hour nap.”  

 

* * *

 

When Cora said she had been living in South America, Derek had expected Brasilia or another large city, not an indigenous village in the highest peaks of the Andes.  They spent long weeks exploring the mountains and hunting with the pack, letting the moon pull them wherever it liked.  He didn’t speak the native language like Cora did, but a few of the younger wolves spoke Spanish and helped him muddle through.   Life was simpler with the Mapuche, and yet still complex.  He enjoyed getting away from Beacon Hills and leaving his past behind.  None of the wolves knew who he was or what he had done.  Derek was grateful for the clean slate.  

 

While the culture seemed to be largely patriarchal, Derek was surprised to learn that the Machi, or tribe Shaman, was an elderly woman who used herbs and animal sacrifices to influence the weather, heal the human members of the pack, and see the future.  Derek didn’t put much stock in her rituals, but the rest of the wolves trusted her implicitly, so he did his best to shake the uneasy feeling he got whenever he felt her eyes on him.  They spent many warm afternoons playing games with the children of the pack and even more cool evenings listening to the tribe’s legends and howling at the full moon that hung low in the unbelievably clear night sky.  

 

Derek appreciated the quiet. Since he didn’t speak Mapudungun, it was all too easy to tune out the soft voices of the pack and focus on his own thoughts.  While he knew that leaving Beacon Hills was the only way for him to move on, Derek was still uneasy.  He had left town without his Betas, and, more importantly, without telling Stiles goodbye.  Derek didn’t know how Stiles was able to crawl underneath his skin when he was a thousand miles away, but the teen had wedged himself into the space around Derek’s heart and taken root there.  The man’s absence left a hollow feeling in his chest that he could barely describe.  None of it made any sense.  Derek immersed himself in the tribal culture, forcing himself to learn their metal working techniques and push any thoughts of Stiles and his own pack out of his mind.

 

More than a month into their stay with the Mapuche, Derek felt more unsettled than ever.  The quiet simplicity of the pack’s daily activities began to wear on him.  He started to long for noise, the inane chatter and incessant growls of his untrained pack members getting on each other’s nerves.  Derek found himself missing the adrenaline that came with the constant upheaval of living in Beacon Hills.  He felt himself stagnate.  He could almost feel his wolf’s muscles began to atrophy the longer he sat shaping silver plates with delicate, handmade tools.  No matter how long he spent gathering fruit or repairing thatched roofs, Derek’s thoughts always wandered back to a certain mole-spotted face and small, upturned nose.  He couldn’t shake the image of those inexperienced lips pressed to the pulse in his throat, those long, thin fingers clutching at his hair.  

 

He was glad to meet the people who had taken Cora in and protected her when she needed it, but the language barrier made it difficult for him to communicate his thanks or do any sort of bonding.  It was nice to see Cora in her element, though.  Derek had only spent a few weeks with her since she had become an adult, but when he saw her run free and hunt with unbridled power, it was easy to forget the baby sister he had left behind after the fire.  His heart ached for Stiles and the rest of his pack, but he resigned himself to staying in the Andes with Cora and protecting her like he had failed to do when they were children.  

 

Things were so unbearably dull for another week.  Derek wished he had brought a few novels along with him, but he and Cora had left Beacon Hills quickly, and he hadn’t packed much more than a few changes of clothes.  He was considering pulling out a notebook and seeing how many of his favorite poems he could write down from memory when a series of blood-curdling screams echoed through the settlement.  The leaves on the trees seemed to shake with the power of the air displacement.  Derek sprang to his feet and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the commotion.  Most of the other wolves had the same idea, and a crowd formed quickly, surging through the trees until the sudden heat stopped them in their tracks.

 

A brush fire had broken out in the forest on the outskirts of the settlement and had already swallowed a few dwellings, the wind pushing the fire further toward the rest of the pack.  The able bodied swept into the flames, Derek leading the way.  The fire moved quickly across the dry underbrush and licked up the sides of the homes like they were little more than kindling.  Following the cries of those who were trapped, Derek worked quickly, leading those who trailed behind him to pull children and elderly pack members from the flames and bring them to safety.  The smoke threatened to choke him, not only the ash and ember, but the sense memory.  His body remembered every scream and every smoke tendril, every crack of splintered wood and painful whimper that had plagued his nightmares for the last ten years.  Derek stamped down hard on those thoughts and pushed forward, swinging a small girl into his arms as her brother clutched to his back, arms wrapped tight around his neck.  

 

When they were a safe distance away, Cora took a count.  They were two people short.  It was immediately obvious that the Machi was missing, but it took a few precious minutes to realize that Tomi, the only pregnant woman in the pack was also missing.  Reasonably cowed by the fire, the men of the tribe cowered, taking slow steps backward, shielding the women and children from the still surging flames.  Derek looked between their tired, ash-darkened faces and slowly realized that no one was going to do anything.  They were frozen in fear.  Cora stepped forward, but he caught her arm quickly and pushed her back toward the others.  

 

“Stay here,” he growled, face shifting, eyes flashing electric blue, pulling a shocked gasp from the rest of the pack.  It hadn’t escaped Derek’s notice that no one present had his eye color, so he had kept it hidden, only letting his claws and fangs be seen during their full moon runs.  “I mean it Cora, don’t make me hurt you,” he hissed through elongated canines.  Cora squeezed his wrist, and then let go quickly, nodding her head in resignation.  Derek sprinted off through the fire, darting around quickly collapsing buildings and falling tree limbs.  He focused on his hearing, but he couldn't discern anything over the crackling and popping of the fire.  

 

“The cottage!  It’s set back off the North path!” Cora called after him, knowing the village much better than he ever would.  Spurred on by the direction, Derek put on speed, ignoring the painful cracking of his charred skin and the smell of burning hair that he quickly recognized as his own.  Finally reaching the cottage, Derek strained his ears, but heard nothing.  Kicking in the thin door, Derek was hit with the overwhelming scent of burning mountain ash.  It was coming from a small pile of stones and planks smoldering in the center of the hut, surrounded by symbols drawn into the dirt floor.  The pregnant wolf, Tomi, was lying next to the fire, seemingly unconscious.  Derek spotted the Machi sitting still, eyes closed in some sort of trance at the apex of the largest symbol.

 

“Machi!” he called, but she didn’t twitch or make any show that she knew he was there.  He searched for the words in her native language, but found that he couldn’t remember anything he had learned.  “Machi, levántate, por favor!”  

 

Still, nothing.  The largest plank of the roof abruptly snapped in half, showering them with burning embers, and hot, dry ash.  “Lo siento, Machi,” Derek grunted, as he leaned down and gently pulled the woman over one shoulder.  Going down to a crouch, he gathered up Tomi’s limbs and cradled her limp body in his arms.  With a quick check to see that the Machi was secure, he fled.  The moment he ducked through the doorway and into the fresher air, the East wall of the cottage collapsed inward, throwing even more smoke and debris up to the sky.   

 

As carefully as he could, Derek darted back through the minefield of fallen buildings and blazing flames to rejoin the group.  “Tomi!” he heard someone cry, muffled, like his ears were ringing or clogged with ash.  He laid the women down on the forest floor and stepped back, letting the pack tend to their own.  Cora rushed into his arms and clung to him tightly until he hissed and pulled back, pulling off the remains of his burnt shirt to expose the places where the fire had bit into his skin.  

 

“Are you alright?” Cora asked, more worried than he had ever heard her before.

 

“Fine,” Derek confirmed, glancing down at the charred and cracked skin on his arms and stomach that showed no sign of healing.  “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Lobo solitario!” someone called from the middle of the crowd, and seeing as the rest of the wolves belonged to the Mapuche pack, Derek had to assume they were talking to him.  He turned slowly, rolling his stiff shoulders to relieve some of the tension in his body.  

 

“Me llamo Derek,” he said with a huff, wondering why no one had bothered to learn his name when he’d been living in their village for the better part of two months.  

 

“We know that, lone wolf,” a young man said, after the Machi spoke, translating for her.  “You are alone here, but elsewhere, you have Betas, yes?”

 

“Not anymore,” Derek ground out, clenching his fists at his sides.  

 

The Machi coughed, but kept talking into the young man’s ear.  He listened for a few minutes before speaking again.  “You have proven yourself worthy of them, and of leading a pack again.  Only a true wolf would walk into fire willingly and selflessly save others.  She wants to give you a boon.”

 

Derek smiled softly, but shook his head.  “I don’t need a boon,” he said, “gracias Machi, pero no.”

 

“Sí, lobo solitario, necesitas,” she said stiltedly, a little unsure of her Spanish.  “Por favor,” the Machi said, gesturing to the ground at her feet.  She was a short, ancient woman, the sleeves of her long poncho nearly covering her thin, wrinkled hands.  Derek fought the urge to roll his eyes.  He had only done what any of them could have done.  He didn’t need a reward for that.  Nevertheless, the Machi stepped forward, waiting until Derek fell to his knees in the underbrush, hissing slightly as the sticks and leaves brushed against his burned legs.  

 

Bowing his head, Derek lifted his eyes to the elder woman, hoping his face was conveying the thanks and appreciation he meant it to.  Cora kept telling him to work on his expressions, and he didn’t want to anger the tribe by seeming ungrateful.  The Machi was so short and hunched she had to raise her withered fingers to reach Derek’s head.  With her thumb tips nearly touching on his forehead and her palms resting in his slightly burnt hair, she met his gaze and started chanting.  

 

Derek had no hope of understanding what was being said, and if the looks on the rest of the pack members’ faces were any indication, no one else did either.  Her voice was low and quiet but deft, sliding quickly over the words like river water over smooth stone.  When she reached the end of her chant, her lips parted to expose a crooked-toothed smile.  She pushed her thumbs inward with such force that Derek fell over backward, the power of her words seeming to unleash something in his mind.  It was unbelievably strong, but not unfamiliar.  

 

Derek lay flat on his back for a minute, just letting his body settle into the surge of power.  When he felt steady, he sat up and looked around frantically until he found Cora.  Her eyes glowed bright yellow, brighter than he had ever remembered seeing before.  He flashed an answering red and stepped forward.  With a slight smirk, Cora bared her throat and let her Alpha scent her.  Derek pulled back, still cupping the back of Cora’s neck and grinned a broad, devilish smile.  “Gracias Machi!” he yelled with glee.  After quickly kissing her ash-covered forehead, he was gone, darting off into the woods to stretch his born-again powers.  Cora followed quickly, laughing happily as the Hale pack bond resolidified.  

 

They had stayed a few more weeks after that.  It took a over a week for Derek’s burns to heal, though a few faint scars were still visible on his forearms.  Cora was happy to be back with her people, and Derek was glad to spend his days sprinting through the mountains on four paws, feeling the crisp air ruffle through his fur.  Once he was an Alpha again, the full shift came naturally, like he was born to do it.  Maybe it was another gift the Machi had given him, or maybe it was something he needed time and space to access, away from the shadow of Beacon Hills, but either way, he whooped and galloped, freeing himself while channeling the memory his mother.

 

After all that had happened in their months with the Mapuche, what made them finally leave was pedestrian in comparison.  Word spread that Cora’s 20th birthday had passed and the pack Alpha demanded she marry, as a woman should have been claimed in her early teens, according to their traditions.  Naturally, Cora vehemently refused.  The siblings did not bother sticking around long enough to see what kind of reaction her insubordination would spur.  Derek thanked the Machi and the rest of the pack for hosting them and being so generous, and they had spent days making their way back to civilization.  Eager to rejoin the modern world, Cora had asked to do some sightseeing before they moved on.  When they reached the peak of Cerro San Cristóbal, Derek had finally pulled his phone out to take a picture of the view.  He turned it on and it immediately began buzzing and dinging with missed messages, thirty of them.      

 

* * *

 

It was over ten hours to Dallas and then they had a three hour layover.  Derek paced the entire time.  It had been murder convincing him that running all the way back to Beacon Hills would take longer.  His mind raced uncontrollably, trying to remember every word Stiles had said in his messages.  Derek cursed himself for breaking his phone before he could listen to them again.  He would have given anything to be able to listen to his mate’s voice while he sat idly in the Dallas airport, still hours away from reaching Stiles.  

 

Stiles was his mate.  It was painfully obvious to him now.  The way Stiles had described it, as an unbelieveable compulsion, an ache in his chest that could not be filled no matter what he tried to distract himself with, it was everything a human mate would feel for their wolf.  He had known all along that Stiles was special, but in what way, he couldn’t have said.  Stiles got under his skin from their very first meeting, but he hadn’t had the time or inclination to think too hard about it.  

 

Theoretically, Derek knew that Alphas had mates.  His mother had found a mate in his father, who had also been human when they met.  Derek had waited to feel that spark after he had killed Peter and assumed the role of Alpha, but there had been nothing.  He had hoped to feel the pull of his mate when he looked at Stiles, but there was nothing there.  Besides that fact, he had been too young for Derek to pursue romantically.  The Sheriff wouldn’t even have bothered to arrest him if he found out, he would have shot Derek up with wolfsbane bullets without even blinking.  

 

When Derek had given up his Alpha power to save Cora’s life, he thought that chapter of his life was over.  He had given up on feeling that power again, and he had definitely given up the dream of finding a mate, whether or not that would have turned out to be Stiles, as he had hoped.  It had seemed easier to leave.  If he was no longer an Alpha, he had nothing to offer Stiles or the rest of the pack.  It would be better to make a clean break, and leave them both to mourn what could have been in peace.  For all he knew, Stiles was still in love with Lydia and would never have known the difference anyway.  

 

Derek had been thinking of Stiles the entire time they were in Chile, but never with any kind of seriousness.  He liked to fantasize about what might have been, but he never believed it was anything he could actually have in real life.  When the Machi made him an Alpha again, it felt nothing like the first time.  This time it was earned, and not stolen at the expense of one of his last remaining family members.  It felt good and right to give up Peter’s power to save Cora.  It had never been his in the first place and it had haunted him from the moment his claws touched Peter’s throat.  The Hale Alpha power had been tainted with hate and revenge.  Derek didn’t think it had been pure since his mother held it.  He figured that was why none of them had been able to achieve the full shift until Derek earned the power back.  

 

He hadn’t allowed himself to hope that Stiles could still be his mate.  He hadn’t felt the pull the first time he had been Alpha, so he had no reason to believe that it would find him the second time around.  Derek should have known better.  Stiles had to be his mate.  He had felt it right from the very beginning, but wanted to wait for some mythical affirmation to prove it to him.  If he could convince himself that Stiles wasn’t his true mate, he wasn’t missing anything by never pursuing the man.  He could justify leaving Beacon Hills if Stiles was just another boy, nothing special, not his soul mate.  Now he knew the truth.  He and Stiles had been meant to be together the entire time, he just didn’t have the evidence to back it up until he had become Alpha again.  He had been too weak to follow his heart and his instincts.  His mother would have been ashamed of him.    

 

“Oh God, Stiles,” Derek whispered to himself as he rocked back and forth in his seat, waiting for his second flight to pull out of the gate.  “I was such a fool.  Please wait for me,” Derek prayed, hands clasped together in front of his face.  Cora laid a comforting hand on his thigh.  

 

Everything Stiles had been feeling for the past few months, all the pain he had felt, everything he couldn’t name and didn’t understand, it was all Derek’s fault.  He knew mates usually stayed close together, but he had thought it was just the nature of two people that had found their other half and didn’t want to be parted from it.  No one had ever told him that human mates felt actual pain when they were separated from their wolf.  There was so much he could have learned from his mother if he had bothered to pay attention before she was gone.  What was worse though, was that Derek hadn’t just left town, he had left the continent.  Every mile he put between him and Stiles had hurt him that much more.  Derek could feel it now, and unfortunately, he could sense that as he got closer, Stiles wasn’t getting any better.  He feared he had done irreparable damage to the love of his life.  

 

How had he missed it?  Every single member of the pack had known Stiles needed Derek to get better.  Even Melissa and the Sheriff had begged him to come home.  So why couldn’t he feel that his mate was in trouble?  How could he protect Stiles if he didn’t even know when he was hurting him?  Derek felt sick, disgusted by his own obliviousness.  He had failed his mate before he even bonded with him.  He wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles was angry enough to refuse him.  He had left, walked away from his pack and his mate and never looked back.  

 

Cora squeezed his leg sharply.  When he looked down, he saw her claws had poked through his jeans and into his skin.  “Stop beating yourself up.  You didn’t know,” she told him, voice soft with concern.  “Everyone is going to be happy to see you, just relax.”

 

“You sound like Mom,” Derek said, leaning into her side and laying his head down on her shoulder.  

 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, big brother,” she whispered into his hair, patting the side of his face with her palm.  “Rest.  I’ll wake you when we get there.”

 

* * *

 

When their plane came to a rolling stop, Derek was the first out of his seat.  “It’s okay,” Cora said, as soon as they made it out of the airport, “run.  I’ll be right behind you.”  He kissed her cheek and ducked behind a parked car, shifting and leaving his clothes behind.  A huge, deep chestnut wolf leapt over the hood with a bark and ran off.  Cora shook her head, gathered up her brother’s clothes, and hailed a cab.  

 

Derek ran.  His chest heaved, and his heart pounded, but he didn’t stop for anything.  It was nearly 200 miles of leg cramps and sore paw pads, but finally, he saw the familiar Beacon Hills sign and raced to the hospital.  Derek didn’t even bother shifting back.  He just let a few startled nurses call after him as he darted through the halls, following his mate’s scent.  Scott, Melissa, and the Sheriff were standing around the room arguing when he leapt in, shaking out his coat and whining at the sickly smell that was coming from his mate.  

 

“Scott?” Melissa asked, jumping out of her chair to close the door on a few employees that had chased after the giant wolf that was running through the hospital.  “Is that…”

 

“Derek,” Scott breathed, voice light with relief.  “Thank God.”

 

“That’s Derek?” John asked, lifting himself off the side of his son’s bed to get a closer look at the heaving beast that was sitting in front of them, pawing at the linoleum floor with nervous uncertainty.  

 

“Derek, could you…” Scott trailed off, scratching the back of his head, “you know… shift back?”

 

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a series of sharp snapping noises echoed through the room as Derek shed his fur and stood up.  Naked and covered in sweat streaked dirt, Derek stared straight past Scott and his gasping mother to the pale, still form in the bed.  Stiles was on a ventilator, apparently unable to breathe on his own, and the painfully slow beep of the heart monitor told Derek that his mate’s heart was barely beating.  

 

“I’ll just go…” Melissa said, pointing at the door while her eyes were still firmly stuck on Derek’s body, “get you some scrubs,” she finished, slipping out the door and closing it behind her.  Derek padded to the bed, and sat down on the edge, a shaking hand reaching out to lay over Stiles’ chest, determined to feel that he was still alive with his own body.

 

“Is he…?” Derek trailed off, not even sure what he was asking.  He couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles’ pale, nearly purple face to look at Scott or the Sheriff, but hoped they would answer his vague question anyway.

 

“He’s been like this for days,” Scott said, walking over to the other side of the bed so Derek would be able to see him without turning away from Stiles.  

 

“We were going to take him to Cleveland tonight, but he’s so unstable, we need to wait for a medivac helicopter to be available,” the Sheriff informed him, voice hoarse and broken.  

 

“He’s…” Derek wasn’t able to finish the thought.  His hand shook where it was on Stiles’ chest, the thin hospital gown clenched tight between his fingers.  “It’s…”

 

“He’s your mate, right?” Scott asked softly.  Everything sounded too loud against the harsh beeping and hissing of the life support machines.  Derek nodded, eyes burning with tears as he looked down Stiles’ body and saw how much weight he had lost, how skeletal he looked, even under several layers of hospital blankets.  “Do you know what to do?  Do you need to bite him or something?” Scott asked quickly, seeing the Sheriff wince at his words from where he stood behind Derek’s back.  

 

“You can’t turn him, though, can you?” John asked, stepping around the side of the bed to stand next to Scott.  “You’re not an Alpha anymore, right?”

 

Derek hung his head, but said nothing.  He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before he lifted his eyes, and let the two men see the red, burning glow.  John let out a long breath and rocked back on his heels.  “So you can save him then,” he said, looking to Scott for confirmation, so he didn’t have to keep looking at the naked werewolf pressed up against his dying son.  “He can turn him.”

 

“I don’t think I need to turn him,” Derek said, finally getting out a full sentence.  John looked between the two werewolves, confused.  

 

“Derek can give him a mating bite instead,” Scott explained, thankful that Allison’s family had been able to tell him more about what it meant to be a werewolf after Derek and the rest of the Hales had left town.  

 

“A mating bite?” John repeated, eyes squinting as he searched for comprehension.  “What does that do?”

 

“It binds them together…” Scott said slowly, looking at Derek for an indication of how much he should reveal.  “For life,” he finished, leveling a serious look at the Sheriff so he could tell they weren’t joking.

 

“He’s unconscious,” John argued, waving an agitated hand at his son, “he couldn’t possibly consent to something like that.”

 

Melissa walked in before Derek could answer,  handing a folded pile of clothing to Derek, which he slipped on quickly.  

 

“You’re right,” Derek finally answered, crossing his arms and looking at the parents, blue scrub sleeves bulging as his muscles flexed.  “He can’t.”

 

“It’s what he wants, Mom,” Scott protested, soft brown eyes pleading with her and the Sheriff, begging for them to understand.  “It’s what he’s been hoping for this entire time… why he kept calling Derek’s phone even though he wasn’t answering.  I think somehow he knew this was what had to happen.”

 

“I can’t let you do that to him,” John answered gruffly, rubbing the creases in his forehead with a calloused hand.  “It’s like a forced marriage.  How can I allow that?”

 

Derek didn’t answer for a few minutes.  He knew there was no way he could convince Stiles’ father that he knew they were meant to be together.  Even though he could feel it deep in his bones, part of him still couldn’t bear to take that free choice away from Stiles.  He was terrified that if he mated them without asking, Stiles would be furious when he woke up and there would be nothing he could do to fix it.  Derek couldn’t take a mating back.  It was forever.

 

“I can mate him, or I can turn him, but the turning bite could kill him instead,” Derek said finally, biting down hard on his tongue between words.  “I know which one he would prefer, but as his father, I’ll leave that choice to you.”

 

“John,” Melissa said, reaching for the man’s arm and pushing in close to his side.  “He loves Derek.  I think he would want to be with Derek.”

 

“He never wanted to be a wolf,” Scott added, pulling the Sheriff’s eyes back to him, “Peter offered once and he refused.  He always wanted to stay human, but I know he loves Derek.  I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I can feel it.”

 

John looked torn.  Either way, he was making a huge life decision for his son.  He couldn’t do it.  “I don’t know anything about your way of life,” he said, turning to Derek.  “But I know Stiles would want to be involved one way or another.  Either way, you’d be his Alpha,” he leveled Derek with a very serious look, and made sure that he had Derek’s full attention before speaking again.  “So you choose.”  After giving his son’s blanket-covered ankle a quick squeeze, John left the room.  

 

Scott smiled weakly and took his mother’s hand.  “I think you know what to do,” Scott said, “so we’ll leave you two alone.  Mom?” he asked, gesturing to Stiles’ face.  Melissa dropped his hand and stepped forward.  Carefully and gently, she removed the tube from Stiles’ throat and shut the ventilator off.  

 

“Whatever you’re going to do,” she said, squeezing Derek’s shoulder with a gloved hand, “do it quick.”  With one last smile from Scott, they left Derek alone with his mate.  

 

Derek sat down on Stiles’ bed again and reached out for both of his mate’s hands.  After thinking for half a minute, he set Stiles’ right hand down and held on to the left.  “I love you so much,” he whispered into his mate’s skin as he lifted the slim, cold wrist to his mouth, “please forgive me.”  

 

He bit down gently, letting his fangs pierce the tender flesh of Stiles’ inner wrist.  With a slow, careful tongue, he lapped at the wound until the bleeding slowed.  A quick search of the nurse’s cart gifted him with a roll of gauze, which he wrapped securely around his mate’s wrist before sitting back down.  Derek held Stiles’ uninjured hand in both of his, cringing at the stark difference in shade between his tan and Stiles’ sickly pallor.  

 

His mate still wasn’t breathing.  Derek didn’t know how any of this worked, but he felt like he should say something.  It could be a long time before Stiles came back to him, and there were some things he should probably say before Stiles was awake to hear them.  Derek closed his eyes and laid his head down on Stiles’ chest with his ear right over his barely beating heart.    

 

“Stiles… don’t you dare die on me.  We’re not finished yet.  I’m not finished yet,” he sucked in a shuddering breath as he searched for the right words.  “I’m not finished loving you.  I didn’t even get the chance to start.  You have to give me the chance to love you.”

 

Derek felt hot tears trail down his nose to dampen Stiles’ hospital gown.  “I don’t know how to do it.  I’ve never done this before… not really.  I thought I loved somebody before but I was wrong.  It was nothing like this.  You are nothing like her.  You’re nothing like anyone else in the world.”  Derek fought through the pain to give his mate a smile.  “You’re different… You’re Stiles.  You give me stupid nicknames and read my favorite books so we have something to talk about.  You knew my favorite poem.  I don’t know how you knew it, but you found my favorite one, and you read it to me, and your voice… it just sounded so… so right.  

 

“I know I left you and I don’t know how to be a good Alpha, and I definitely don’t know how to love you, but I want to try.  Please let me try.”  Derek let himself cry.  There was no one around to witness it, it was just him and his mate alone in a dark hospital room, completely quiet except for the slow beeping of the heart monitor.  

 

Derek’s free ear perked up.  He thought he heard something.  The dual sensation was disorienting, how he could hear Stiles’ heart through his chest with one ear and the horrid electronic beeping through the other.  He thought Stiles’ heart was speeding up.  

 

“Stiles?” Derek asked, pulling his head away from his mate’s chest so he could look at his speckled face through tear-wet eyes.  “Can you hear me?” he asked, as Stiles’ chest rose and fell in a quick, but deliberate breath.  “Stiles?”  

 

“You took… your time…” Stiles wheezed, bringing his left hand up to rub his eyes before opening them.  

 

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek cried, all at once proud to let the tears fall down his face.  “I didn’t know.  I came as soon as I could—”

 

“Did you get my messages?” he asked between coughs, amber eyes blinking open to get a good look at the blood dotted bandage that was wrapped around his wrist.  It took Stiles a minute, but once he found his focus, he could tell immediately that he wasn’t a wolf.  He wasn’t a wolf, but he had a bite mark, which could only mean…

 

“Yes.  I’m hoping I’ll never get a voicemail from you again.  I don’t want you to have to call.  I want to be with you… all the time… from now on,” Derek finished weakly, suddenly exhausted.  His body ached.  He had ran so long, and come so far, and now all he wanted was for Stiles to understand him.  He couldn’t find the right words.  With wide, questioning eyes, Derek leaned in closer to his mate, quirking his mouth upward and licking his lips.

 

“Forever?” Stiles asked, rubbing the tip of his nose against Derek’s heavily stubbled cheek before capturing his lips.  

 

“Yes, Stiles… forever,” Derek confirmed, and then continued kissing his mate.      

  


**Author's Note:**

> Stiles gets deathly ill because Derek has been away from him for so long. When Derek arrives, Stiles is unconscious. Derek, Stiles, Melissa, and the Sheriff must decide if he would prefer to be given the mating bite, or the turning bite, which may kill him. The Sheriff leaves the decision up to Derek, who only has his own feelings, Stiles' voicemails, and the opinions of the others to go on.
> 
> If you liked this, come [tumble](http://aflailureandamasterpiece.tumblr.com/) with me!


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